


swans

by Charmsilver



Series: dreamers [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charmsilver/pseuds/Charmsilver
Summary: When Merlin is subjected to violent and unrelenting visions of his worst fears, Arthur will do anything to prevent him from losing his mind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Phew. This started out as a simple story about Merlin getting captured and tortured with a magical artefact that showed him his worst fears. That story sucked, but this one is better. I think. 
> 
> I've deliberately mixed up the lore in this story and embellished for my own means. 
> 
> I've also mixed past and present tense in a way that I hope is effective, but may simply be annoying. You have been warned.
> 
> Happy reading!

Merlin

_The beast’s eyes are yellow; they seem to shimmer in the torchlight as the animal bares its teeth, sharp white canines protruding from pink gums. The knights are advancing on the creature, swords drawn, spears raised and Arthur leading the charge. A cold stone of familiarity wedges itself inside Merlin’s throat – he’s seen this before. He’s been here before, watching this all play out. The beast is not a beast, but a girl. A girl who Merlin might even love. _

_And Arthur is going to kill her. He raises his sword and slashes at the winged monster but she darts out of the way, growling in fear and fury. Arthur slashes again while the knights fan out, cornering the beast against a wall. She lashes out with her sharp claws and Arthur meets it with a well-aimed jab, the tip of his sword cutting into the flesh of her paw. She hisses in pain and jumps backwards, cowering in fear. _

Fly away, _Merlin thinks. _Fly away, Freya!

_But something is wrong. The creature does not launch into the air. She yowls and spits and roars at the knights but she does not flee, and Arthur’s next blow catches her in the chest._

No_!_ _Merlin stands but there’s nothing he can do. He watches numbly as Arthur_ _deals the killing blow. Blood pours forth from her neck and she crashes to the ground, choking and crying out. “No!” Merlin really does scream it this time, overcome with heartache. _

_This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They were supposed to have a few more precious hours. Merlin would take her to the lake so she could see it one last time. This was wrong. All wrong!_

_Arthur turns towards him, his eyes cold as stone. Merlin reaches out a hand as if in supplication; he falls to his knees…_

_And he collapses onto the forest floor. All around him is the sound of steel against steel. He looks up to see Arthur duelling with a man, a soldier from another kingdom. Their skills are well matched but Arthur is the better fighter – he’s always the better fighter. Merlin knows it’s not Arthur who needs his help right now; he jumps to his feet and sprints across the clearing; there, behind the tall trees, he finds his father sparring with another soldier. _

_But he’s too late. _

_The soldier catches Balinor off guard with a feint swiftly followed by a blow to his stomach. Balinor grunts in pain, the sword falling from his grip. Enraged, Merlin throws his arm out and uses his magic to hurl the soldier into a tree trunk, knocking him unconscious. Merlin falls to his knees at his father’s side, tears falling from his eyes; he presses his hands to the wound, already knowing it’s too late. Balinor clutches Merlin’s hand in his own but he has no breath left to speak. He dies with his eyes wide open and Merlin hunches over his corpse, sobbing and sobbing until he’s nothing left to give._

_Any minute now Arthur will arrive to tell him that no man is worth crying over. Any minute now…_

_Merlin opens his eyes, still wet with tears for his father, and finds himself curled over the body not of Balinor, but of Arthur._

_“Arthur?” He chokes on the king’s name, unable to believe his eyes. This cannot be. _

_Arthur’s eyes are glassy and unseeing, his chest bloody from a fatal wound._

_“I don’t understand,” Merlin sobs, clutching at Arthur’s shredded clothing, his broken armour. “You can’t be dead,” he cries, pressing his fingers hard against Arthur’s neck. “You – you can’t be dead!” _

_There’s a rustle of clothing nearby and a voice cuts through Merlin’s sorrow. “You could have saved him,” says the voice. Merlin sees the hem of a regal green dress, stitched with beautiful interwoven patterns. _

_“Morgana,” Merlin spits. He lifts his eyes to her face and she smirks. “You did this,” he says. “You – you murdered your own brother!”_

_Morgana’s face twists with fury. “I did nothing,” she hisses. “You made me what I am. You – and you alone.”_

_“No…” Merlin drops his gaze back to Arthur; he cups the strong jaw in his hand and strokes his cheek. “No…” Arthur couldn’t be dead; they hadn’t fulfilled the prophecy yet – there are still so many things they need to do together. Merlin should have protected him better. If only he’d killed Morgana when he’d had the chance, then this would never have happened. _

_Morgana begins to laugh, a high-pitched cackle that shakes Merlin to the core. He throws out his hand and sends Morgana flying, and then he curls around Arthur’s cold body…_

And he woke in his bed, in his room, in Camelot. He jerked upright, gasping for breath, and promptly vomited onto the floor.

As the nausea subsided he sank back against the wall, wiping tears and spit from his face.

It had been a dream. They had all been dreams. Nothing more than nightmares. Arthur was alive; he was up in his own chamber, sleeping peacefully in his own bed, and Morgana was far from here, unable to harm him.

But Freya and Balinor were both dead – that much couldn’t be denied. Memories had mixed in with nightmares, plaguing Merlin with fear and grief and guilt. He pressed a hand to his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow. When his pulse finally calmed he stood up on shaky legs and magicked away the pool of vomit with a disgusted curl of his lips.

Gaius remarked on his pallid complexion at breakfast, but Merlin shrugged off his concerns. Although it was true he’d never had such visceral nightmares before, he didn’t think it was anything to be worried about. Everyone had nightmares sometimes, after all. Besides, he felt much better after some food and water.

But that day Merlin couldn’t so much as blink without the images from his nightmares flashing across his vision. His concentration suffered, and Arthur was predictably irritated when Merlin fumbled the clasp on his pauldron for the fourth time.

“Oh for pity’s sake, Merlin,” he snapped, shoving Merlin’s hands away and doing it up himself, awkward though it was. “What’s wrong with you today?”

Merlin cringed inwardly. “Nothing, sire,” he lied.

Arthur was unimpressed. “Well, then,” he said curtly. “You won’t have any trouble holding your own against the mace.”

This was unwelcome news indeed; Merlin groaned and glared at Arthur. “Do you really need more mace training?” he inquired bitterly.

Arthur’s grin was all the answer Merlin needed.

As it turned out, holding a shield under the hot sun while Arthur pummelled it with the mace as hard as he could was something of a trigger for this new affliction Merlin seemed to have caught. With every _thud_ of the spiked weapon against Merlin’s shield he flashed back to his nightmares – Freya’s snarling face, Balinor’s last breath, Arthur’s glassy-eyed stare. He was sweating profusely – more than usual – and in one fleeting moment between Arthur’s previous blow and the next, Merlin shut his eyes. All at once he was assailed by awful visions from his dreams. He gasped, and when Arthur’s next strike arrived it sent Merlin to his knees, his hands letting go of the shield, the mace just barely missing his head.

“Merlin!” Arthur scolded. “Tired already? We’ve only just begun.”

But there was no way Merlin could put up with more of this. He held up his hand in surrender, panting for breath.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur cajoled him. “You usually last longer than this.”

Merlin could hear the sound of the other knights laughing. “Go easy on the boy, Arthur,” Gwaine chuckled from somewhere to their left.

Arthur grabbed Merlin by the forearm and hoisted him to his feet. Merlin swayed as his head spun and he wondered if he might be sick again.

“Merlin,” Arthur muttered, quietly so that only Merlin could hear. “Are you ill?”

But Merlin shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said; he was already feeling better now that Arthur wasn’t pummelling with his mace anymore.

The king’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Merlin. Then he clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “Go get me some water,” he instructed. When Merlin returned with the jug Arthur took a huge swig and then poured half of it over his sweaty hair, shaking it out like a dog afterwards.

“The king of Camelot,” Merlin observed dryly.

Arthur just grinned and shucked the rest of the water right into Merlin’s face.

The cold water was a mercy, really, but for the sake of appearances Merlin still pretended to be outraged.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur

There was something going on with Merlin.

The first day Arthur had assumed Merlin was suffering from a hangover. He’d been pale and queasy-looking, and even clumsier than usual. On the practice field he’d almost passed out – and while it was true Arthur didn’t exactly go easy on him, Merlin had never actually collapsed during practice before.

But since then Merlin’s state has only deteriorated. He seemed exhausted, his face drawn and pale, and he was distracted too, turning up to Arthur’s chambers with only half his bedding, or a pile of unwashed clothes instead of the clean ones Arthur had requested.

Perhaps the most annoying part was that Merlin refused to tell Arthur what was wrong; worse, he acted as though nothing was amiss at all. It had been nearly a week but Arthur hadn’t been able to figure out if Merlin was sick, or angry with Arthur, or perhaps suffering from the world’s worst hangover as Arthur had initially thought. He still performed all his duties, albeit slower than usual, and with as much grace as a duck in flight. But it was clear there was something wrong, and for the first time since the insolent boy became his manservant, Arthur considered giving him a day off.

There was really only one course of action available to him if he wanted to find out what was going on. In a moment of rare free time Arthur made his way to Gaius’ chambers. He knew Merlin wouldn’t be there as Arthur had sent him to sharpen the swords in the armoury.

When Arthur entered the physician’s chambers it was to find him bent over an enormous tome, spectacles perched on the very edge of his nose so he could decipher the miniscule text.

“Ah.” Gaius startled when Arthur cleared his throat to announce his presence, whirling around to face him. “Sire,” he said quickly, shutting the book with a heavy thud and a cloud of dust. “I was just researching the correct treatment for Yellow Pustules; there’s been an outbreak among some of the younger children... is everything all right?”

Arthur grimaced at the thought of yellow pustules. “Yes,” he said. There was an awkward silence in which Arthur wondered how best to broach the subject and Gaius stared at him in confusion. “It’s Merlin,” Arthur said at last. “He’s been acting strange lately. I’m –“ he stopped himself from saying _worried_. “I thought you might have some insight on the matter.”

Good, Arthur thought. Succinct and to the point and not too eager.

But Gaius regarded him with a shrewd gaze that made Arthur want to squirm. Then he sighed and shook his head, setting his spectacles down on the table. “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark as you are, sire. I’ve tried speaking to him but he’s refused to tell me anything.”

At least he wasn’t the only one, Arthur thought.

“I see.” He pursed his lips. “He’s not ill, then?”

“Not as far as I can tell,” Gaius said. “Exhausted, perhaps.”

“It’s more than that,” Arthur pressed.

Gaius nodded gravely. “I’m afraid it might be, yes.”

There was an idea simmering under Arthur’s skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the word.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Gaius offered, as if he knew what Arthur was thinking. “In the meantime perhaps you could cut him a bit of slack?”

Arthur wanted to say, “I already have,” but he held his tongue; he didn’t want Gaius to think he had a soft spot for Merlin; that information would eventually work its way back to his manservant and then he’d never hear the end of it. “I want to know if there are any… developments,” Arthur said. “If you discover anything.”

Gaius smiled kindly. “Of course, sire.”

After that there was nothing more for Arthur to do; he nodded stiffly and left the room, no closer to discovering what was ailing his manservant and if anything, even more concerned than before.

Merlin

The nightmares worsened with every passing day.

At night, the moment he shut his eyes to sleep he was sucked into another cycle of horrific dreams and memories. He witnessed the death of all his loved ones over and over – Freya, Balinor, Hunith, Will, Gaius, Gwen, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. He saw Arthur die so many times in so many ways that they had started to repeat, as if he’d exhausted all possibilities of Arthur’s death and had no choice but to return to the beginning.

But the dreams showed him other things too. Sometimes he dreamt that Morgana took Camelot with an army of shadows, and when Merlin tried to use his magic to stop her it wouldn’t come. He watched, powerless, as she stormed the castle and sat upon the throne that was meant for Arthur.

The worst dream was the one where Arthur found out about his magic. That dream, like all the others, had many variations, but it always ended with Arthur’s eyes cold with fury and hatred, and his sword at Merlin’s chest.

Sometimes he dreamt of his own death. That one was always the same. He was tied to a stake, piles of firewood at his feet. When the flames rose to meet him he looked up at the castle and saw Arthur looking down at him, his mouth curled into a sneer of disgust as Merlin burned. When Merlin opened his mouth to speak, to explain, smoke spilt inside and he choked, unable to get the words out. He woke with an acrid taste on his tongue, and a sickness in his gut that made him retch.

The nightmares were so real, so vivid, that Merlin felt as though he hadn’t slept in a week. As if that weren’t enough, the nightmares plagued him in the daytime too, images of his dying friends and family invading his vision and making it impossible to concentrate.

He knew Gaius has noticed, but Merlin was ashamed to admit that what ailed him was nothing more than nightmares. They would go away eventually, he reasoned, so there was no reason to worry the physician about it.

But one morning while accompanying Arthur to the council chambers, Merlin was struck by a particularly blinding vision of his father sprawled on the forest floor, his mouth leaking blood as he tried to speak his last words. Merlin stumbled on the stairs, failing to catch himself in time; he pitched forward, resigned to the pain that would surely follow a tumble down the stone staircase.

Suddenly a hand grabbed at his arm and yanked him back; Merlin grunted as Arthur hoisted him upright, his hands scrabbling to hold onto Merlin even as he sank onto the step, his legs turning to jelly.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, his voice tight with exasperation. “What on earth are you doing?”

Merlin ignored him. He rested his head against the cool stone wall and shut his eyes, but he was immediately assaulted by an image of Arthur’s corpse lying prostrate on the ground, his body marked with countless stab wounds. Hastily he wrenched his eyes open and found himself face to face with Arthur, his face pinched with worry, his hands tight around Merlin’s shoulders.

“Hi,” Merlin said, wondering how on earth he could pass this off as nothing.

But Arthur was having none of it already. “Merlin, as your king I demand you tell me what’s going on. Are you ill?”

“Oh,” Merlin rolled his eyes. “You’re going to play the king card? That’s hardly fair.”

Arthur huffed incredulously. “Don’t pretend with me,” he said. “I know something’s wrong. You’re not dying, are you? Servants as terrible as you are really quite difficult to come by, you know.”

Merlin cracked a smile. “Shut up, your highness,” he said, though it lacked his usual bite. “I’m tired,” he grumbled. God, if he could just shut his eyes…

_Morgana, mouth curled into an inhuman grin, her hands holding a dagger above an unconscious Arthur’s heart. Merlin screams for her to stop, and then –_

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice roused him from the vision; he looked pale and shocked. “You –“

“I think you better take me to Gaius,” Merlin said, keeping his eyes firmly open.

For a moment Arthur did nothing; he removed his hands from Merlin’s shoulders and eyed Merlin warily for a minute, then without a word he hoisted Merlin to his feet and half dragged him to Gaius’ chambers.

Gaius looked worried, but not all that surprised, to see Arthur with Merlin in tow. Arthur deposited Merlin into a chair and then ushered Gaius out of the room, presumably so they could speak without Merlin hearing. Merlin should have resented this, but he was too busy trying to keep his eyes open; he didn’t want to succumb to the nightmares again; he was starting to lose sense of what was real and what was in his mind. When they return Arthur looked pale and shaken.

“What is it?” Merlin asked.

But Gaius shushed him with a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, my boy.” He handed him a vial of clear liquid. “Drink this,” he ordered.

Merlin eyed it warily. “Gaius…”

Gaius sighed in exasperation. “Just do as I say, Merlin.”

So Merlin complied. Instantly his head felt heavier and his eyes started to droop. “No,” he moaned. “I can’t –“

Gaius patted his shoulder gently. “Sleep, Merlin,” he said. “You won’t dream, I promise.”

Merlin had no choice. His eyes slid shut and he drifted seamlessly into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay a long chapter! 
> 
> Caer Ibormeith is a figure in Irish mythology. She appeared to a man in his dreams, but whenever he reached for her she would vanish. For most of her life she took the form of a swan. When the man went in search of her he found her chained up with many other women. They transformed into swans and he was challenged to identify Caer Ibormeith among them; he succeeded, then turned himself into a swan and they flew away together, singing. 
> 
> 'breuddwydiwr' simply means 'dreamer' in Welsh (or that's what Google Translate tells me har har)

Arthur

He couldn’t get the image out of his head.

One minute he’d been trying to get Merlin to talk, to explain why he was suddenly incapable of standing on his own two feet, and the next minute he’d been standing in Camelot’s throne room, Morgana barely ten feet away from him, smiling wickedly as she held a dagger above an unmoving man. A man with blond hair and a golden crown and a cape of Camelot red. Himself, Arthur realised. He was looking at himself.

And then he’d heard the scream. He’d whirled around to find Merlin on his knees by the door, his face a mask of anger and pain. Morgana raised her hand to strike… and Arthur yelled Merlin’s name.

They both resurfaced at the same time. Arthur was shell-shocked. What had he just seen?

But by some miracle he had managed to get Merlin to Gaius’ chambers. Once there he’d left Merlin in a chair and pulled Gaius into the corridor. After he’d told him what he’d seen, Gaius had grown pale.

He hadn’t explained what was going on; he’d simply gone straight back to Merlin and handed him a potion. When Merlin took it, he’d fallen asleep instantly.

And now they were alone in the room, Merlin sleeping peacefully on Gaius’ bed while Arthur waited for Gaius to explain.

Even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

Sorcery.

Someone had cursed Merlin to see things… awful things. And when Arthur had touched him while he was having one of these visions, he’d somehow experienced the vision for himself.

“Will he be all right?” Arthur asked after he couldn’t wait any longer.

Gaius looked up from the book he was examining to regard Arthur with a grave expression. “We must hope so,” he said.

“Can’t something be done?”

“What do you think I am doing at this very moment?”

Arthur cleared his throat apologetically. “Yes, of course, forgive me, Gaius.”

“It’s all right. I know you care for him.” Gaius’ voice was quiet, cautious.

Arthur looked away, uncomfortable. “Is it a curse?” Arthur asked to change the subject.

Gaius nodded, turning back to his book. Arthur’s already guessed it was a book of magic. “I believe so, but I cannot yet say for certain.”

“Find out as quickly as you can,” Arthur said, rising to his feet. He cast one last longing glance at Merlin, whose face looked almost bruised, so dark were the marks under his eyes. Arthur should never have let it get this far.

He reached for the door. “Send word as soon as you know the cure,” Arthur commanded.

“Yes, sire.”

It was harder than it ought to have been, leaving Merlin like that, but Arthur couldn’t bear to wait around doing nothing while Gaius looked for answers. So he squared his shoulders and walked away, heading towards the council chamber. He’d have to come up with some excuse to explain his late arrival, but at least he’d have something to occupy his mind while he waited for Gaius to figure out how to save Merlin.

Answers came sooner than Arthur expected. Gaius found Arthur in the council chamber; he’d remained behind after the meeting in order to review the harvest reports, but so far he’d done nothing but stare blankly at the yellowed pages, his mind far away from such matters.

So he was both relieved and anxious when Gaius pushed opened the doors and approached.

“How is he?” Arthur blurted out, then winced.

Gaius’ face was grave. “He is sleeping still, but I fear the potion’s effects will soon wear off.”

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. He felt tired all of a sudden. “And have you discovered what ails him?”

“I believe so.”

Arthur didn’t like the look on Gaius’s face at all – a mixture of worry and discomfort that made Arthur want to fidget in his seat. He gestured for the physician to sit. “Well?” he prompted.

For a moment Gaius didn’t speak; he frowned, gathering his thoughts. “It would seem Merlin is the victim of a rare… affliction.”

“A curse,” Arthur corrected.

But Gaius shook his head minutely. “Not exactly.” He pursed his lips. “It’s more like… a parasite.”

Arthur recoiled as if struck. “A parasite?” he repeated, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice.

“Of the magical variety, to be sure,” Gaius clarified. “It’s called the Caer Ibormeith. This creature infects the minds of its victims, showing them their worst fears in the form of nightmares that strike whenever the victim’s eyes are shut. The creature saps the strength of its host, forcing them to relive their worst memories and experience their worst fears until they lose their grip on reality.”

Arthur felt sick. “So this… creature will drive Merlin to insanity?”

Gaius nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“There must be something you can do.”

“These are powerful creatures, sire, they cannot simply be expelled by an exterior force.”

“What are you saying?” Arthur was growing impatient.

“There is one known way to defeat the creature. Merlin must be appointed a breuddwydiwr to lead him out of his nightmares.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “And what is that?”

“A dream guide – someone to show him the way out of his nightmares. With the help of the breuddwydiwr, Merlin will be able to defeat the Caer Ibormeith and expel it from his mind.”

“And where can we find one of these… guides?” Arthur clenched his fist. “Among the druids?”

“On the contrary, sire.” Gaius studied his own hands. “Merlin already has a breuddwydiwr.”

Arthur glanced up sharply. “Who?”

The physician curled his lips in a wry smile. “The Caer Ibormeith will permit only one dream guide to be appointed. The first person to make contact with the victim while he or she is experiencing a nightmare will share the vision, and thus be selected as the breuddwydiwr. This cannot be undone or changed.”

“And the first person to touch Merlin while he was having one of these visions was…”

“You, sire.”

Arthur almost laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am, sire.”

“But I haven’t the slightest clue how to expel a magical parasite from Merlin’s mind!”

“Ah.” Gaius tried to look cheerful but it wasn’t particularly convincing. “Thankfully there are some… guidelines.” When Arthur didn’t respond, Gaius continued. “You must enter into the dream world of the afflicted by initiating a physical link between Merlin and yourself. You will then be inserted into whatever nightmare Merlin is currently experiencing. After that you must guide him out of the dreamscape by showing him that his visions are not real.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Arthur answered.

Gaius leaned forward. “Sire, you will get only one chance at this. If you break the connection before you have freed Merlin from the parasite he will be lost. And if after twelve hours you have not succeeded…”

Arthur waved his hand dismissively. “Twelve hours will be more than enough.” He ignored Gaius sceptical look and stood. “How long until Merlin awakens from the potion’s sleep?”

“Half an hour, no longer.”

“Good. Bring Merlin to my chambers when he’s awake; I will meet you there in half an hour. I have some things I must attend to first.” With that he left the room, mind racing, pulse quickening under his skin. He would soon have Merlin free of this enchantment; how hard could it be?

Half an hour later Arthur had eaten a measly dinner, washed and changed into comfortable clothing. He was idly tossing an apple up and down when there was a knock at his door. Gaius entered with Merlin in tow, leaning heavily on Gaius’ shoulders, hid body half bowed with exhaustion but his eyes wide open. Arthur sprang to his feet and took Merlin’s other side; together he and Gaius manoeuvred Merlin onto Arthur’s bed.

Merlin appeared startled by this turn of events. “What are you doing?” he slurred, looking down at the bed apprehensively.

“Quiet, Merlin,” Arthur said, though he kept his tone gentle. Merlin really did look terrible. Once his manservant was safely positioned on the bed, Arthur drew Gaius aside, ignoring the look of betrayal that Merlin shot him. “Have you told him what’s going to happen?” Arthur asked.

Gaius looked sheepish. “Sire, I think it best if Merlin doesn’t know the specifics. You are going to be privy to his worst fears and darkest memories… I very much doubt he would consent to such a thing. Perhaps in this instance it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes.” But what does _Merlin_ have to hide? He’s hardly a well of secrets.”

The answering look Gaius gave him made Arthur shiver. “All of us have secrets, Arthur. Even Merlin.”

They stared at one another for a moment until Arthur relented. “Very well, what will you tell him then?”

“Leave that to me,” Gaius said.

They returned to Merlin’s bedside, from where he glared weakly at them. “You’re planning something,” he rasped.

“We’re going to help you,” Gaius told him gently. “But I need you to do something for me. I need you to close your eyes.”

Merlin whimpered and the sound tugged at Arthur’s heart. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I don’t want to.”

“You must,” Gaius said, still gentle. “Come now, Merlin. It will all be over soon.”

But Merlin would not relent. He looked terrified, lying there with his eyes wide open, afraid even to blink. Arthur lost patience. He walked around to the other side of the bed and climbed in next to Merlin.

“What are you doing?” Merlin said suspiciously. “Arthur –“

“I said shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, crowding in right next to him. He drew Merlin upright and into his arms, holding him against his chest. Merlin gasped with surprise but was silenced when Arthur lowered his lips to Merlin’s ear. “As your king I order you to sleep,” Arthur said.

Merlin grumbled, but Arthur could already feel his muscles relaxing. “King card… unfair…” Merlin muttered as he drifted off.

For a moment the world was just as it should be. And then everything dissolved and was remade. _Twelve hours_, he heard Gaius’ voice ripple through the air like water. _Twelve hours, Arthur_…

_And a forest materialises around him. He whirls around, expecting to see Merlin, but there’s no one there. “Merlin?” he tries._

_Suddenly he hears a ragged sobbing coming from nearby. He walks a few strides to his left and sees a familiar sight – Merlin bent over the body of a man. At one time the man had been their only hope to save Camelot – Balinor was his name. “Merlin,” Arthur says, trying to rouse him from his vigil. All he has to do is get Merlin to realise he’s dreaming. “Merlin,” he tries again._

_And then he hears one word that makes him freeze.”_

_"Father…” Merlin sobs. _

_But that doesn’t make any sense. Merlin’s father died long ago. _

_Arthur steps closer, wondering if perhaps this man is actually someone else – Merlin’s father, perhaps. But when he sees his face he knows for certain that it is indeed Balinor. _

_Merlin lets out another broken sob. _

_And then Arthur gets it. Balinor isn’t Merlin’s father; he’s a manifestation of a father figure that the Caer Ibormeith has inserted into Merlin’s dream to make him believe he is seeing the death of his true father. Yes, that must be it. There’s simply no way Balinor was Merlin’s father. Cruel parasite!_

_“Merlin, he’s not your father,” Arthur says loudly. _

_Merlin doesn’t even twitch._

_“Merlin, are you listening to me?”_

_Arthur takes another step closer; he reaches out to touch Merlin’s shoulder and…_

_They’re in the castle dungeons. Merlin is standing outside the jail gates, staring at whoever is inside. Arthur peers closer and, with a jolt, sees Gaius sprawled on the stone floor, beaten black and blue, his chest barely rising as he struggles to breathe. When Arthur looks to Merlin he sees he has been crying; his face is blotchy and stained with tears._

_“I’m sorry,” Merlin says. “I’m so sorry, Gaius.” He puts his hands on the cell walls. “It should be me,” he continues. “They should have taken me.”_

_From where he lies on the floor, Gaius makes a pained sound. “I would… die for you… any day… Merlin,” Gaius wheezes._

_Merlin hangs his head low and Arthur’s just about to call his name when the dungeon fades away…_

_And the sky is on fire. _

_People are screaming and fleeing in all directions. Arthur looks to the clouds and sees what he knew he would._

_A dragon. Swooping low over the turrets of the castle, eyes blazing, mouth opening to shoot flames onto the city below. Arthur almost yells for the knights to cover his flank when he remembers that this isn’t real, though the memory certainly is._

_That’s when he sees himself: the blond prince sprinting across the courtyard, knights at his heel, a sword in his hand. The dragon screams with rage and sweeps towards them. Arthur casts his eyes around and spots Merlin a few feet away, staring in terror at the scene unfolding in front of him. _

_Had Merlin been there that night? Arthur frowns, trying to remember, but he cannot. He strides towards his servant. “Merlin,” he calls. “Can you hear me, Merlin?”_

_No response. Merlin is fixed to the spot and Arthur glances up to watch what’s happening; he remembers this moment. They’d met the dragon head on and driven it away temporarily. _

_But something isn’t quite right. Arthur is sure he’d landed a blow to the beasts’ scaly leg and sent it away, roaring, but when the dream Arthur slashes with his sword, he misses. The dragon spits and lunges towards the band of knights, and Arthur rushes to meet it. _

_Then the world erupts into fire and heat and Arthur watches, stunned, as his dream self is obliterated. He hears Merlin scream; he falls to his knees and yells Arthur’s name. _

_Arthur runs towards him. “Merlin, it’s not real!” he shouts. _

_Merlin glances up, startled, his face a mask of pain. “Arthur?” he says…_

_And this time Arthur wastes no more time. He lunges for Merlin as soon as he sees him, but there’s something in his way._

_He stops short and glances around. “What is this?” he hears himself say._

_They’re in Camelot’s main courtyard, a huge crowd of people thronging all sides. In the centre is a pyre stacked high with dry tinder and firewood that prevents Arthur from reaching Merlin. _

_And at the centre, tied to a stake, is Merlin._

_Merlin is slumped over, his body defeated. _

_“What is this?” Arthur repeats, forgetting himself. “Stop this at once!”_

_But no one can see him. A man in Camelot red steps forward, a torch in one hand. He lowers the flame to the base of the pyre and it instantly catches alight. _

_“No,” Arthur gasps. He scrambles to climb up the pyre, but it’s unsteady underfoot and by the time he’s almost at the top, the flames have nearly reached Merlin. Arthur is forced back by the heat of them. “Merlin!” he calls. “Merlin!”_

_Merlin looks up, but not at Arthur._

_At least, not the right Arthur. He looks up towards the palace and his eyes settle on the person standing on high. It _is_ Arthur, though Arthur hardly recognises himself. His face is twisted with cruelty as he watches his servant burn. _

_Arthur coughs, choking on the smoke now. How could Merlin think... Arthur would never… this doesn't make any sense!_

_“Let him go!” Arthur yells, his voice catching on a sob. “Merlin I would never do this to you. You idiot – don’t you know that?!”_

_But Merlin’s already unconscious and Arthur knows it’s only a matter of time…_

_And they’re on a grassy bank beside a lake. _

_Arthur takes one step forward and stops short._

_Merlin’s there, and in his arms is Arthur. He’s curled around him protectively, but the king is bleeding from a wound in his stomach that even Arthur can see is fatal. Merlin sobs with such anguish that Arthur’s throat constricts. He rocks Arthur gently, his hands clenching at Arthur’s chainmail. _

_“Don’t go,” he says. “Please don’t go, Arthur.”_

_But Arthur’s already gone. His eyes are glassy and unseeing. _

_“We need more time,” Merlin says, lifting his head to the sky. “Can’t you give us more time?” he begs._

_But nobody answers. Arthur can’t bear it any longer. He hurries towards Merlin, desperate to prove that he is, in fact, alive. _

_Merlin looks up sharply. “Arthur?” he says, voice catching, face taut with grief and confusion. _

_“I’m here,” Arthur says. He’s so close now… he reaches out and brushes his fingers over Merlin’s shoulder and…_

_Arthur curses. Loudly._

_Another dream. Every time Arthur gets close to Merlin they’re yanked into another nightmare. How is he supposed to show Merlin the way out of these visions if he can’t even catch Merlin’s attention?_

_Arthur is barely paying attention to the current dream; he focuses on Merlin instead, making a beeline for him. “You’re not getting away from me, this time,” Arthur mutters, striding across the spongy forest floor._

_Merlin’s crouched on the ground watching a battle unfold around him. Arthur’s never really observed Merlin during these skirmishes and he’s surprised by how closely Merlin is keeping an eye on what’s going on. He’d always assumed Merlin disappeared into a hiding place until the battle had finished. _

_Arthur’s only a few feet from Merlin when he sees something that makes his blood run cold. He stops dead in his tracks. _

_Merlin’s eyes are glowing with a bright, golden colour. Arthur whirls around to see an enemy go flying into a tree. _

_Before Arthur can react, he hears his own voice erupt into anger. “Sorcerer!” his dream self yells. _

_Suddenly Merlin is yanked to his feet by the dream Arthur, a sword pressed to his throat. “You just used magic,” Arthur accuses._

_Merlin is unable to deny it. His eyes dart around, terrified. “Arthur,” he pleads. “Please, I only use it for you. I would never hurt you… please, you have to believe me.”_

_The dream Arthur throws Merlin to the ground, disgusted. He points his sword into Merlin’s chest. “You will burn for this,” he growls._

_The real Arthur is frozen to the spot. Even as the world evaporates and remakes itself into another dream, Arthur doesn’t so much as twitch._

_Merlin has magic?_

_Merlin, Arthur’s manservant, his closest and most trusted friend, has magic?_

Arthur felt the betrayal like a punch to the gut. For years Merlin had lied to him, keeping a secret so big that Arthur didn’t understand how he could have missed it. He’d always thought Merlin to be an open book – perhaps a touch wiser than Arthur would ever care to admit – but incapable of hiding such an enormous secret.

But Merlin was a sorcerer.

And if Merlin had hidden such a secret as that… what else had he hidden?

Arthur started to pull away; he needed space, he needed to be far from Merlin right now.

And then he heard Gaius’ voice, sharp and urgent:

“Arthur – Merlin needs you. Don’t leave him now, whatever you’ve seen.”

Arthur clenched his jaw… and returned to the dreamscape.

_Merlin is crying over a girl. She’s pale with beautiful eyes and a dress so tattered it’s practically rags. She’s also dying, blood pulsing from a wound in her abdomen. _

_“It’s all right,” she whispers, stroking Merlin’s cheek. _

_“Stay with me,” Merlin tells her. “Come on, Freya.”_

_She smiles gently. “I’ll always be with you,” she says. “Thank you for all that you did for me, Merlin. No one has ever shown me kindness before.”_

_Merlin shudders as she takes her last breath…_

_And her body becomes Arthur’s, and then Gwen’s, and then Arthur’s, and then his childhood friend Will, then Gaius, Hunith, Arthur, Balinor, and Arthur, Arthur, Arthur._

_Arthur witnesses his own death so many times he starts to feel sick. Is this what Merlin fears the most? Arthur – dead?_

_And then a dream different from the rest._

_This time they’re in Arthur’s chambers; the fire in the hearth is raging and Merlin is sitting across from Arthur in the fireside chairs. His expression is one of both fear and determination. “Arthur,” he says, “There’s something I have to tell you.”_

_The dream Arthur smiles indulgently. “What is it now, Merlin? You have washed my formal tunic haven’t you? You know I need it for Lord Bael’s visit tomorrow.”_

_Merlin swallows nervously. “Yes. I mean, no. I’ve washed it. That’s not it.”_

_“Then what?” The dream Arthur looks almost bored, and Arthur is almost ashamed._

_“I. Er.” Merlin looks towards the fire, unable to meet Arthur’s gaze. “It’s.”_

_“Spit it out, Merlin,” Arthur snaps. _

_“I have magic,” Merlin blurts out, and the real Arthur jumps at the suddenness of it. _

_But the dream Arthur quirks an eyebrow. “Is that some kind of joke?”_

_Merlin shakes his head, and then he starts babbling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, only I didn’t know how and I was afraid you would hate me, and you have to understand, I was born with magic. It’s who I am. I would never use it to hurt you. I’ve only ever used it to help you, Arthur. There’s a prophecy…”_

_Arthur holds up his hand to silence Merlin, his expression suddenly livid. “Merlin,” he intones. “Stop.”_

_Merlin stops, inhaling shakily._

_“You lied to me?” Arthur says._

_“I had to –“_

_“And now what am I supposed to do?” Arthur asks cruelly. “My father would kill you if he knew. You know that don’t you? You’ve put me in an impossible position.” He leans in, towards Merlin, who shrinks backwards, fearful. “What, pray tell, am I supposed to do now?”_

_“I thought you’d want to know…”_

_Dream Arthur laughs, a steely chuckle. “You really are an idiot, Merlin,” he says. “It would have been better if you’d never said anything.”_

_“That’s not true,” the real Arthur says before he can stop himself. _

_Merlin jerks abruptly and turns to stare at Arthur. “Arthur?” he says, glancing between the two like a startled hart. “What?”_

_“Merlin, you’re dreaming. It’s time to wake up,” Arthur instructs. “Come on now, enough of this foolishness.”_

_“But…” Merlin frowns. “Are you going to hurt me?”_

_Arthur clenches his fist. “No,” he says firmly. “I’m not going to hurt you. But you have to come with me.”_

_Merlin stands shakily and takes a step towards Arthur. Just as Arthur reaches out to take his hand, the world vanishes._

_“No!” Arthur yells. He kicks the dirt in fury. _

_He had been so close._

_He looks up curiously; they’re in a cave deep beneath the earth. Arthur can’t shake the feeling that this place is familiar._

_“Emrys,” hisses a voice. “You should not have come.”_

_“But I need your help,” Merlin says, and Arthur spots him standing on a rocky platform, torch held aloft. Above him towers a huge dragon. It takes a few seconds for Arthur to realise this is the same dragon that had terrorised Camelot._

_“I have given you all the help I can, young warlock. And you have spurned it every time. Now you have paid the price.”_

_“But this can’t be the end!” Merlin yells, and he sounds broken, desperate even._

_“Not all prophecies come to fruition,” the dragon sighs. “You have failed in your quest and that is the end of it.”_

_“But Arthur…”_

_“Is dead because of your carelessness. You did not protect him as I instructed you to. You let the witch live, you let the child live. Did I not tell you they would bring nothing but death and sorrow?”_

_Merlin is shaking, Arthur can see it even from several feet away. He starts to pick his way over the rocks towards Merlin._

_“I tried to protect him,” Merlin sobs angrily. “I did what I thought was right.”_

_“And you were wrong!” The dragon rears up, roaring into the cavern and sending flames into the dank air. “And now I shall die here.”_

_“I could free you,” Merlin whispers. “I can still free you.”_

_Arthur’s halfway there… just a little further._

_“No,” the dragon growls. “It is my fate to die here. As it is your fate to wander the earth alone, from now until such time as Arthur should return.”_

_Merlin swipes his hand over his face. “He will return?”_

_“Perhaps,” says the dragon thoughtfully. _

_Arthur hauls himself up onto the rock beside Merlin. He reaches out and grasps Merlin by the arm. “Merlin,” he says, holding on tightly, afraid the connection will break at any second. “This is a dream. I’m not dead. I’m right here.”_

_“Arthur?” Merlin looks dazed. “You came back?”_

_“I’ve never been dead,” Arthur says impatiently. “Think, Merlin. Can you even remember my death?”_

_Merlin’s brow furrows in confusion. “Of course I can. You –“ he stops short, frowning. “I thought you –“ _

_“I’m not dead,” Arthur repeats. He holds Merlin by both arms now, shaking him a little. “Come on, Merlin. They’re all just dreams given to you by the Caer Ibormeith. You can wake up now!”_

_But Merlin doesn’t seem to understand. He blinks dumbly and shakes his head. “But you’re dead,” he says slowly. “Aren’t you dead?”_

_“No, Merlin.” Arthur takes hold of Merlin’s hand and places it over his chest. “See. Not dead.”_

_Merlin’s eyes widen. “Arthur?” he whispers. _

_Arthur goes to pull Merlin into his arms…_

_And Arthur’s chambers rematerialize around them. The scene is exactly as it was before: Arthur and Merlin seated across from one another, the fire roaring heartily. Merlin leans in again, his face displaying that same grim look of determination. “Arthur, there’s something I have to tell you.”_

_This time the dream Arthur barely looks up. “What is it?” he says impatiently._

_Arthur winces; he looks away, unwilling to watch his own cruelty again. He hears the rough scratch of Merlin’s palms as he runs them over the course material of his breeches. “I…” Arthur looks back, curious; there’s a different intonation in Merlin’s voice – a hitch of embarrassment. _

_“Spit it out,” the dream Arthur says._

_“I love you,” Merlin says all in a rush. _

_Arthur’s frozen, unable to believe the words he’s just heard from Merlin’s lips. _

_“I love you, Arthur,” Merlin says again._

_The dream Arthur looks up slowly. His eyes are cold and angry and he stands abruptly, his mouth curling with disgust._

_“No,” Arthur hears himself say. “That’s not –“ _

_“You are not worthy of my love,” the dream Arthur says cruelly. _

_Merlin blinks, hurt plain to see on his face._

_The real Arthur reaches for him. He needs to tell him, needs to say it’s all right, needs to soothe his hurt with the truth, but before he can get close enough the room flickers…_

_And they’re back in the courtyard, the huge pyre stacked up beneath a broken-bodied and defeated Merlin. _

_“You won’t get away from me this time,” Arthur declares, his heart pumping with fire and determination, and he begins to climb._

_As he gets closer to the top he can feel Merlin’s fear. He risks one glance up at the balcony and sees himself staring back at him, face lined with cold fury. It makes Arthur burn with shame and guilt. _

_The first plume of smoke hits Arthur in the eyes but he ignores it, dragging himself ever upwards._

_This is the last time, he promises himself. This time he’ll get it right._

_The pyre seems to go on forever, and Arthur almost thinks he won’t make it before Merlin passes out from the smoke. Then suddenly he’s at the top, hauling himself onto the platform where Merlin’s feet rest. _

_He reaches for Merlin’s bonds first, working them loose. _

_“Arthur?” Merlin rasps, eyes cracking open to watch as Arthur tries to free him. “What are you doing?”_

_Arthur succeeds in untying Merlin’s feet. “Getting you out of here,” he says, blinking through the smoke that’s beginning to surround them. “You know this is a dream, don’t you?” He unties Merlin’s hands and catches him as he falls. They sink to the floor, Arthur cradling Merlin to his chest. _

_“You were going to burn me,” Merlin says._

_“I wasn’t,” Arthur promises. “I would never. You have to believe me. I would never hurt you. Even though you’re a sorcerer, even though you lied to me. I could never have you killed. Do you understand?”_

_“I –“_

_“Say it, Merlin,” Arthur instructs. He strokes Merlin’s wet, sooty cheek and fights back his own tears. “Tell me I would never hurt you.”_

_Merlin shudders in his grip. “Arthur…”_

_“Say it.”_

_“You would never hurt me.”_

_The smoke dissipates. “Good.” Arthur cradles his servant closer, tucking Merlin’s face into his chest. “Now wake up for me, all right? You have to do as I say, I’m the king.”_

_Merlin huffs. “I never do as you say,” he whispers. _

_Arthur grins and strokes Merlin’s hair softly. “Yes, you do,” he says. “And you will. Come on.”_

_Merlin inhales deeply._

And they were back on Arthur’s bed, the world spinning for a second until returning to normal. The hazy sheen of the dreamscape had vanished, and the daylight was streaming in Arthur’s windows.

For a moment Arthur feared he had taken too long. He lifted his head and saw Gaius asleep on a chair, his head hanging low. Panicked, he looked down at the man in his arms; Merlin’s eyes were closed, but his breathing was even.

“Merlin?” he said quietly.

Merlin shifted, his face creasing into a frown, the skin around his eyes dark with exhaustion. “Tired,” he mumbled into Arthur’s chest.

Arthur rubbed Merlin’s arm. “I know,” he said. “Are you still having nightmares?”

Merlin shivered, but he shook his head. “No,” he said, pulling away slightly. He looked up at Arthur with wary eyes, wet with unshed tears. “You saw –“

“Shh,” Arthur quieted him, pulling Merlin back into his arms and ghosting his mouth over the shell of his ear. “We’ll talk about it later. Rest for now.”

Merlin sighed deeply and tucked himself in close. “Thank you, Arthur,” he murmured.

There were some difficult times ahead, that was for certain, but for now Arthur was content to be a protective shield around Merlin, to guard him from the creatures that sought to harm him, whatever form they might take.

Because if there was one thing Arthur knew for certain, it was that _he_ would never hurt Merlin. All he needed to do was to get Merlin to believe it and they would be all right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Merlin.

Merlin

Afterwards everything was different. Merlin woke from his first restful slumber in days to find Arthur curled around him, his arms holding Merlin against his chest, his legs tangled with Merlin’s.

Panic engulfed him.

He struggled to get free, but his limbs were heavy and weak and he only succeeded in waking Arthur.

At once he was dragged back into the fold of Arthur’s arms. “Stop struggling, Merlin,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

But Merlin was in full flight mode; he pushed at Arthur’s arms. “Let me go,” he begged. “I’ll leave Camelot; I’ll stay away, I promise. Just let me go.” His voice broke on the last syllable and he collapsed, his energy spent.

So he was surprised when Arthur loosened his grip and simply held him by the shoulders instead. “You’re talking nonsense,” Arthur told him, and his voice was gentle, almost kind. “There’s no need for you to leave, Merlin.” He stroked his thumb over Merlin’s collar.

Was this some sort of tactic? Lull Merlin into a false sense of security and then strike when he was most vulnerable? But that didn’t make any sense; he’d been asleep in Arthur’s bed, with Arthur there beside him for hours. Why hadn’t Arthur tied him up, shackled him so he couldn’t escape? Merlin’s brain was foggy; he tried to remember what had happened – he knew Arthur had been in his dreams, knew he had seen him use magic. By all rights he should be on the pyre already.

Yet here was Arthur, caressing Merlin as if he wasn’t a criminal for whom the only suitable punishment was death.

“What do you remember?” Arthur asked him, still rubbing soothing circles into the skin of Merlin’s shoulder.

“I…” Merlin opened his mouth to speak. “You – saved me.”

Arthur hummed. “Your mind was infected by a parasite,” Arthur told him. “It showed you your worst fears over and over and would have done so until you were driven mad by it. I had to enter your dreamscape to lead you out of the nightmares.”

Merlin cringed. “What you saw…” he began, but Arthur shushed him.

He shifted around so he could look Merlin in the eye, and he lifted one hand to Merlin’s cheek. “Your fears are nothing to be ashamed of,” Arthur told him, dragging his thumb from the corner of Merlin’s eye to the corner of his lips. “But the things you imagined… about me.” The king frowned. “About what I would do to you.” He curled his arm around Merlin’s back, resting his thumb in the place just above his hip. “I would never do those things, Merlin. I could never…” his voice wavered. “I hate that you lied to me,” he said. “I hate that you didn’t trust me. But I understand.”

Merlin felt as though his entire world had dissolved: everything except Arthur and the places where his hands touched Merlin’s body. “I only ever wanted to keep you safe,” Merlin said.

“I know.”

“And I –“

Arthur smiled and pressed their foreheads together. “I know,” he repeated. “Me too.”

Merlin surrendered himself to Arthur’s embrace; he rested his head against Arthur’s chest and listened to the sound of the king’s heartbeat. He heard, too, the sound of a swan calling, low and haunting, blanketing the world with its song; it chased him into sleep and throughout his dreams.

Dreams of golden light and a king who would never forsake him.


End file.
